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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867720">bets, battlefields, and best friendships</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedchar/pseuds/starryeyedchar'>starryeyedchar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hyacinth Petals (AU Extras) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood &amp; Manga</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Best Friends, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Roy Mustang, Hurt/Comfort, Ishval Civil War, Major Character Injury, Near Death Experiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:07:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,866</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867720</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/starryeyedchar/pseuds/starryeyedchar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’ll be careful, won’t you?”</p><p>Roy answered without hesitation. “Absolutely not.”</p><p>Hughes just shook his head. “I don’t know what I expected.”</p><p>“Oh, calm down. I’ll be back before you’re even allowed out of bed,” Roy promised with a grin. “You’ll see.”</p><p>Hughes huffed an exasperated sigh, but his words were sincere when he spoke. “You better be.”</p><p> </p><p>Or the one where we flash back to the Ishvalan war, and Roy gets hurt even though Maes specifically asked him not to. Badly hurt.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maes Hughes &amp; Roy Mustang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hyacinth Petals (AU Extras) [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1763944</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>156</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>bets, battlefields, and best friendships</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilituism/gifts">Lilituism</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay, first off I want to give the BIGGEST OF THANK YOUS to the person who inspired me to write this work, the very talented LILITUISM! They made some absolutely BRILLIANT art for the main series, and some of their other art is actually what this story was all written around. You can find all of it right <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24505555/chapters/59155225">HERE</a> (chapters 2 and 8 are what I wrote this work for, while 27, 29, and 31 are based on my main AU)! Please go check all of their gorgeous art out! And when you see this, I really, really hope you like it! I meant for this story to be shorter, but I was very inspired by your art and so I sort of ended up going all out. It ended up being as long as an update to the main series... oops. That's why it took me so long, but I hope you enjoy reading. I hope everyone else enjoys reading, too, and again, PLEASE go check out this art! It's amazing!</p><p>Another thank you is in order to the WONDERFUL ElsieMcClay on here; the very first work of the Hyacinths series was a gift fic for her which I wrote after she convinced me to watch FMA in the first place (and now this whole AU has become... so much more), and she helped me a lot with working through the bumps I came across in working through all the ideas for writing this work because she's a writing GENIUS, and the best person to bounce ideas off of. I owe her a lot, not just with writing, she's also a really great friend. Go check her out, too!</p><p>Thirdly, thank you to everyone who's been reading this series and continually supporting me so much, even when the waits get long! I love writing this series (and extras for it, now!), but it's because of all the dedicated readers that I'm still so inspired to work on this AU. As always, please let me know your thoughts in the comments because I always love to hear what you think. I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The two of them had just gotten back to camp after a particularly rough fight when Roy proposed the idea. Maes had an arm wrapped around Roy’s shoulders so that he could support the majority of his weight. A bullet had grazed Maes’ side, and luckily it seemed he would just need stitches as it hadn’t hit anything vital.</p><p>If it had just struck him a few inches to the left, however…</p><p>Medics in the field could only do so much.</p><p>Maes wasn’t exactly thrilled about the new injury— justifiably so, he thought —but he was sort of baffled by how shaken it left Roy.</p><p>As far as Maes was concerned, wounds were an integral part of war. And maybe they hadn’t<em> planned</em> to be shipped out right after graduation from the academy, but they were here now. They had to learn to roll with the punches. Or… bullets, in this case, but still.</p><p>Roy had sustained <em>plenty</em> of minor injuries like this one on the battlefield before, and as much as Maes hated it, it made sense. Being a state alchemist simply put a larger target on his back. And every time Roy was hurt, he would wave off Maes’ concerns and rush into the next fight without hesitation or fear. But… Roy looked scared <em>now.</em></p><p>“Roy, relax,” Maes said, for what felt like the millionth time. “I’ll be fine. They’ll sew me up, and I’ll be good as new, okay? It’s just a little blood.”</p><p>Roy glanced down at Maes’ side again, the red that had covered the blue of his uniform, and went pale. “Quite a <em>lot</em> of it, actually,” he said, and picked up his pace. “But… but you’re right. You’ll be fine. The medical tent isn’t far.”</p><p>Roy sounded like he was trying to convince himself of this.</p><p><em>Maes</em> definitely didn’t need the convincing. He knew he’d be fine, he’d seen men live through far worse. Just in case, though… “You’re a good friend, Roy. Best I’ve had. Thanks for always—”</p><p>“Don’t you <em>dare</em> do that,” Roy snapped, and ah, there was the signature irritation Maes had grown so fond of. “You are not saying goodbye to me, Hughes, I won’t allow it. You’re <em>fine</em>, stop being so dramatic. You could probably walk back by yourself, but instead I’m stuck helping you.” But the hand that held Maes’ arm over his shoulder was shaking, and held tighter instead of letting go.</p><p>Maes frowned. “I just wanted to say that—”</p><p>“I’m not interested,” Roy said, cutting him off again. “Save it. Whatever you have to say can wait until after you’ve been treated.” He paused, hesitating, then, “Besides, I’m sure I’ll die first anyway.”</p><p>Despite the pain in his side and the way his vision seemed to be going in and out of focus, those words were the first thing to truly scare Maes. “<em>What</em>?!”</p><p>Roy smirked, and Maes’ mind <em>reeled</em>. Had his idiot best friend concealed an injury of his own in favor of helping him? It wouldn’t be the first time.</p><p>Noticing his sudden alarm, Roy snorted. “Oh, relax, I’m not hurt <em>now</em>. I just meant… well, you know. In general.”</p><p>“...In general,” Maes echoed. “Is you talking about your death ‘in general’ supposed to make me okay with it?”</p><p>Roy had the audacity to roll his eyes. “I’m an alchemist, Maes. The Ishvalans definitely want me specifically dead, and a great deal of other people probably do as well.” He shrugged, as if this were just a fact he’d grown accustomed to. Maes had no doubt that it was. But even if Roy’s words held some truth to them…</p><p>“No,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I’ll definitely die before you.”</p><p>A muscle twitched in Roy’s jaw, but his tone was still light and humorous when he continued, so Maes wondered if he might’ve imagined it. “How do you figure?”</p><p>“For one, I’m older than you—”</p><p>“By a few <em>months</em>, that hardly—”</p><p>“—<em>and</em>,” Maes continued, undeterred. “You’re an alchemist, Roy, you’ve got <em>fire </em>at your disposal. All I have is knives and guns, and you’re a better shot than me even if you don’t <em>use </em>weaponry. It wouldn’t take much to kill me.”</p><p>Maes definitely hadn’t imagined it. Roy tensed as Maes spoke. “Well, take away my gloves and I’m still just a human trying to play god,” Roy said, a touch of bitterness in his voice. “Still, I suppose you’re right. You’re much smarter than I am, though. At least when it comes to… what is it you always say? ‘Charging headfirst into danger?’ I’m more reckless than you, Hughes.”</p><p>“True,” Maes conceded. “But the fact that you’ve evaded death through all your idiocy thus far? I’ve begun to suspect you might be immortal.”</p><p>This got a laugh out of Roy, finally. “I suppose there’s only one way to settle this, then.”</p><p>Maes blinked. “What—”</p><p>“We’ll have to make a bet.”</p><p>“A bet,” Maes repeated. The medical tent should be in sights now, surely, but he just stared at Roy, trying to figure out if he was actually serious.<br/>“Yes. I’ll bet you 10,000 Cens that I die before you,” Roy said simply, as if the words that had just come out of his mouth made perfect sense. As if the mere prospect of <em>either</em> of their deaths wasn’t horrifying. As if it were something to joke about.</p><p>Maes played along.</p><p>“Of course. Except that I doubt a bet for 10,000 Cens would hold up in court in the event of your death, unless you put it in your will,” Maes told him. And then, after another moment of thought, “<em>Don’t</em> put that in your will.”</p><p>“Fine. Then I suppose we’ll just have to do it for bragging rights.”</p><p>“<em>Bragging</em> rights? If the only way to fulfill this bet would be to <em>die</em>, then what good are—”</p><p>“We’re here,” Roy interrupted softly, and Maes realized with a start that they had, in fact, reached the medical tent. He glanced back at Roy, who had a small smile on his face. “See? I did say you’d be fine.”</p><p>Maes couldn’t resist the urge to smile back, and shook his head. Had Roy really just been saying that to distract Maes from his injury?</p><p>Then again, maybe it’d been just as much to distract himself.</p><p>…Or maybe he really believed it.</p><p>“You’re ridiculous,” Maes told him, plainly, and felt a warmth swell in his chest when Roy’s smile grew. “And so is your bet. But sure, I’ll take you up on it. I’d never pass up an opportunity to prove the great Roy Mustang wrong.”</p><p>And Maes had no doubt that he would. The idea that <em>Roy </em>could die? It was just… impossible.</p><p>Roy shook Maes’ hand briefly before heading inside the medical tent, still supporting nearly all of his weight. “I need a doctor over here!” he called, urgency back in every word. Maes never ceased to be impressed by how quickly Roy could go from his best friend to a professional, a soldier. Maes could never quite draw that line, when it came to Roy. If he were the one carrying a bleeding Roy in here… he’d been <em>far </em>less composed.</p><p>And then Roy turned back to him, and Maes was even more surprised by the way his eyes softened, just for a moment. “For the record, Maes,” he began, under his breath. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, too. Make sure to send someone to let me know when you’re all stitched up?”</p><p>Maes, too shocked to respond, just stood there as Roy allowed himself to be ushered out of the tent as the doctors took over.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Hughes, really,” Roy said, shaking his head. “It’ll be fine<em>. </em>Worry about yourself, and getting those stitches out.”</p><p>Hughes just shook his head back, stubborn as ever. “I don’t like it. They seriously want you to go in by <em>yourself</em>?”</p><p>Roy rolled his eyes. “It’s not like I’ve never been on a solo mission before.”</p><p>“Yes, but… but you’ve always at least had men standing by,” Hughes pointed out. “I’d feel a lot better if I was allowed to come with you.”</p><p>“Now you’re just being stupid,” Roy told him. “You still need time to heal. You can’t possibly think that you coming on this mission would be a good idea.” Not that it had ever stopped Hughes before. The other man had an irritating habit of insisting he be stationed near Roy’s unit whenever the higher-ups wanted the state alchemists to do something particularly dangerous, and Hughes’ misguided belief that he needed to protect Roy had only intensified after everything that had happened with Heathcliff.</p><p>Roy had been alone then, too, or at least… he was supposed to be. The only reason Heathcliff hadn’t shot him dead was because Hughes had decided to follow him anyway.</p><p>Roy <em>did</em> actually feel a bit better when he knew Hughes was close by— not that he’d ever tell him that, but he trusted precious few people, and the idiot had somehow managed to win him over —but if Hughes were to help him <em>now</em> he’d only be putting the both of them in more danger. Hughes, clearly, did not agree.</p><p>“Of course it’s not, but neither is sending you in <em>alone</em>!”</p><p>Roy sighed. “Look, Hughes, the last scouting mission brought back intel that this outpost contains a lot of weapons. Eliminating it could be crucial in ending the war, but it’s obviously going to be fairly well guarded. I have the unique ability to light it up from a safe distance away— the scouts told me where I should go for the best position —but the fact remains that it’s in enemy territory, and the more men I bring, the more likely I’ll be to get caught. I’m just being sent over to blow the whole place up, and then I’ll come right back. I won’t even have to engage in combat. It’s a solid plan.”</p><p>“It’s an idiotic plan,” Hughes said. “And my injury is just a graze, I’m only off active duty for the moment. It’ll heal very quickly.”</p><p>“It’ll heal less quickly if you put a strain on your stitches.”</p><p>“Well, supposedly you’re not ‘engaging in active combat’ anyways, so I wouldn’t be—”</p><p>“<em>Hughes</em>,” Roy interrupted, this time unable to fully disguise the fondness in his voice. He’d never admit this to Hughes either, but Roy somehow found it a little endearing how prone to worry he was. It confused him to no end that Hughes could be such an open book. How he could wear all his emotions on his sleeve, his affection and concern for Roy being no exception. And Roy really had meant what he’d said; he considered Hughes the best friend he’d ever had. Except for maybe Riza, but… ‘friend’ didn’t exactly feel like the right word for her. “I mean it, I’ll be <em>fine</em>. Besides, I know if I’m not then I’ll have to answer to you, and that’s far more daunting than one stealth mission.”</p><p>“Hm.” Maes also seemed to have difficulty holding back his smile at this. “You’re right about that, but I still don’t like it.”</p><p>“That’s fine, but it’s not up to you,” Roy reminded him, which made Hughes frown again. “Hey, don’t look at me like that. Believe me, I don’t like this any more than you do, but it’s not like I’ve got any say in the matter either.”</p><p>A dark look passed over Hughes’ face, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”</p><p>Roy answered without hesitation. “Absolutely not.”</p><p>Hughes just shook his head. “I don’t know what I expected.”</p><p>“Oh, calm down, Hughes. I’ll be back before you’re even allowed out of bed,” Roy promised with a grin. “You’ll see.”</p><p>Hughes huffed an exasperated sigh, but his words were sincere when he spoke. “You better be.”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Maes knew <em>something</em> had happened; he wasn’t an idiot, and he could see it clearly in the eyes of the medical staff. There had been shouting somewhere else in the camp not long ago, and now everyone seemed uneasy, but they all refused to tell him anything even when he demanded answers. Maybe they didn’t want to cause him any stress since he was supposedly still healing but… if that was their plan, it had severely backfired. The not knowing was always worse than the truth, because his mind kept conjuring up what could have everyone so on edge, and each possibility was more awful than the last.</p><p>Roy would’ve told him if he were here, but he was still on his mission.</p><p>Maes had a terrible, sinking feeling that… well, he didn’t even want to think about it, but the timing and the odd looks he kept getting from the people milling about the medical tent made it hard to keep telling himself that was just a coincidence.</p><p>In the end, it was a young Private that Maes didn’t know the name of who was sent to deliver the news. He was practically shaking in his boots, and had clearly been ordered to speak with Maes by one of his superiors.</p><p>“C-Captain Hughes, sir,” the Private began, with a stiff salute. “I’m… afraid I have some unfortunate news. You may want to sit down.” He was reciting the military’s practiced ‘delivering bad news’ speech, which Maes knew word for word. He tried not to be too irritated that it was being used on him, but he couldn’t resist an unimpressed raise of his eyebrows. He was in a cot in the medical tent, because no one would let him leave, and so was already sitting down.</p><p>The Private winced.</p><p>“What happened?” Maes asked, trying his best not to sound too impatient.</p><p><em>Whatever he’s about to say isn’t his fault, </em>Maes thought to himself, and he tried to keep that in mind. Which was a bit difficult, since the rest of his thoughts were screaming at the Private to just <em>spit it out already</em>.</p><p>“Well… well, you see, sir, it so happens that...” the Private trailed off, then cleared his throat. “My apologies. What I mean to say is, Major Roy Mustang has been… taken.”</p><p>Maes froze. His mind blanked. “<em>Taken</em>,” he echoed, his voice like ice. The Private looked terrified, and Maes couldn’t bring himself to care this time. “What do you mean, he’s been <em>taken</em>? Taken by <em>who</em>?”</p><p>“The, uh… the Ishvalans, sir. The scout that came back with the intel about the outpost… he lied. He’s was aiding the Ishvalan forces, and… it was a set-up. To take the Flame Alchemist into custody. He… he was ambushed, sir, and Major Mustang has been captured. We just received word from another scout that accompanied him to the outpost; she returned to camp not too long ago. And the man who sold Major Mustang out is now in custody.”</p><p><em>Fuck. </em>Maes let out a slow, steadying breath, forcing himself to remain calm. Roy was being held captive by the Ishvalans. Fine. Just another stroke of Roy’s bad luck. Why not? What was important now was for Maes to keep a level head. To not get distracted thinking about everything that could be happening to Roy right now. To not let his rage at the fact that Roy had been set up consume him. “Right. Okay,” Maes said, and his voice came out quieter than he’d intended. He made sure to raise it when he spoke next. “What’s the plan?”</p><p>The Private blinked. “The… plan, sir?”</p><p>Maes rolled his eyes. “Yes, soldier, the <em>plan</em>. Is there a rescue already in the works?” <em>And what do I have to do to be sent on it?</em></p><p>“I’m… not sure what you mean, sir,” the Private said. “We don’t know the Major’s whereabouts, and even if we did, a rescue mission seems… unlikely.”</p><p>Maes narrowed his eyes. “Define ‘unlikely.’”</p><p>The Private hesitated. “Well… he was captured by the Ishvalans, sir.”</p><p>Maes’ hands clenched into fists, bunching up the white sheets in between his fingers. “Yes, thank you, you said that<em> before</em>. I understand that perfectly,” Maes hissed. “What I don’t understand is why the military is ‘unlikely’ to recover one of their most talented state alchemists.”</p><p>“The Ishvalan people don’t often take prisoners, sir,” the Private said slowly, as if Maes were an idiot. As if he didn’t already <em>know </em>that. “Major Mustang is presumed dead.”</p><p>Maes hated the words, and he refused to accept them. They were infuriating, and far too cruel, and just… just not possible. “You said he was taken.”</p><p>“I… yes, I did, sir?”</p><p>“If they were just going to kill him immediately, they wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of taking him captive, would they?” Maes asked, still fighting to keep his anger under control. “No, the Ishvalans don’t typically take prisoners. But they were clearly willing to make an exception for Roy. And you’re telling me the higher-ups won’t do the same? Even for the <em>Flame Alchemist</em>?”</p><p>The Private just blinked again, clearly unsure how to respond to this,</p><p>“Forget it,” Maes said, through gritted teeth. “I’ll ask them myself.” He shoved himself to his feet, and the Private took several startled steps back. One of the nurses rushed over, her eyes wide.</p><p>“Captain Hughes,” she began. “Sir, you’re not cleared to—”</p><p>Maes ignored her and stormed out of the tent. He didn’t feel any pain from his injury, anyway. Not with all the adrenaline coursing through his veins.</p><p>He had a mission now, too.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>“Is this really necessary?” Roy did his best to gesture at the hood over his head even though his hands were bound in front of him. Whoever had been dragging him along tightened their grip on his shoulder and pulled him forward so roughly that he stumbled and nearly fell. “I mean, Christ, we’re in a desert. I wouldn’t know where I was even if I <em>could </em>see. So, you may as well just take off the—”</p><p>Someone cuffed him on the back of the head, much harder than necessary. And <em>really, </em>hitting him when he couldn’t see that the blows were coming hardly felt fair.</p><p>“Again. Unnecessary.”</p><p>This, of course, earned him another—<em>harder</em> —smack on the head, but still. Worth it. They should’ve gagged him before they’d blinded him if they wanted to shut him up. It was their own fault.</p><p>And Roy supposed it was <em>his </em>own fault that he was in this mess. Even if he’d been set up by one of the scouts, he should’ve seen it coming. But he hadn’t. He’d been arrogant about how easy this mission would be, which meant he would certainly be on the receiving end of <em>several ‘</em>I told you so’ lectures, courtesy of one Maes Hughes, when he got himself out of this.</p><p>If. If he got himself out of this.</p><p>Because Roy had to admit, this was the biggest pinch he’d found himself in for quite a while. And, as Hughes had so kindly informed him back in the medical tent, he usually had back-up on standby. This time, he was alone.</p><p>He was distantly aware of the fact that <em>this </em>was probably just what Hughes had been afraid of. Roy would have felt bad about ignoring his best friend’s concerns if he weren’t so scared himself.</p><p>Not that he’d ever let his captors see it, though.</p><p>They were leading him up a staircase, now, which was a bit odd seeing as Roy had figured they would take him to some distant corner of the desert, shoot him in the back of the head, and leave him there. The Ishvalans didn’t take prisoners. The Amestris military did sometimes, to conduct…. interrogations, but not usually. This wasn’t that kind of a war.</p><p>To Roy, it didn’t really feel like a war at all. It never had. It was senseless genocide. But to call it that would be treason, and that would only get him killed, too.</p><p>...Though his odds weren’t exactly much better here, wherever <em>here </em>was.</p><p>The stairs stopped. Roy stumbled again, thinking he’d find a step where there wasn’t one, and this time he heard one of the Ishvalans snicker. He had no idea <em>how </em>many people he was currently surrounded by— it had been quite a lot when they’d shoved the hood over his head. They’d taken his gloves <em>and</em> gun almost immediately, so it wasn’t as if he could do anything to stop them, but they were still holding him tight enough to bruise.</p><p>And then, suddenly, they weren’t, and Roy was tossed unceremoniously to the ground. He couldn’t catch himself with his hands bound, even though he tried, and his head cracked on the floor of whatever building they’d taken him inside. More laughter, and Roy was glad they couldn’t see the way his face warmed with embarrassment.</p><p>Though that meant they couldn’t see the withering glare he leveled them with either, which was a bit of a shame.</p><p>“Right,” Roy began, as he sat up and tried to piece his dignity back together. “What do you all want with me, then? I’m sure the military would be keen to fulfill any ransom demands.”</p><p>Someone ripped off the hood off head with no warning, and Roy was left blinking rapidly at the harsh light that suddenly assaulted his eyes.</p><p>“Ransom?” one of the men that had brought him there echoed, with a too-wide smile. It didn’t reach his red eyes. “We don’t take prisoners of war, unlike <em>your </em>lot.”</p><p>Roy glanced around him. He appeared to be in the upper level of an Ishvalan building, though it was clearly abandoned. A half dozen Ishvalan men were standing at varying distances around the room. Roy gulped. One, or maybe even two he probably could’ve handled, even with bound wrists— they hadn’t tied his feet together, which was honestly a bit insulting —but six? Unless they decided to be sportsmanlike and gave him his gloves back, it didn’t seem likely. The one that had spoken to him was the closest, and he was still clutching the hood that Roy had until just moments ago been wearing. Upon looking at it, he saw that it was less of a hood and more of a repurposed burlap sack.</p><p>Also, it had blood on it, which meant Roy had hit his head harder than he’d thought.</p><p>Wonderful.</p><p>His eyes darted back to the man holding it. “Is that so? Could’ve fooled me.”</p><p>The man backhanded Roy across the face so hard that he was sent sprawling back onto the floor, and his head <em>throbbed</em>.</p><p>“You <em>are</em> a prisoner,” another man spat. He was older than the first, not quite as stocky. Roy definitely could’ve taken him down with a well-placed kick, but he didn’t dare try when he was surrounded like this. He may be dumb enough to mouth off, but he wasn’t suicidal. Not quite, anyway, though Hughes would probably argue otherwise. “But you won’t be one for long.”</p><p>Roy hoped the smirk he offered them was more convincing than the way his voice shook. “Ah. I thought so. Odd place for a firing squad, this, but to each his own,” he said, nodding at the gun on the man’s belt over his cloak. “Would you mind getting it over with? I’m sure all you lovely gentlemen have places to be. As do I, I’m afraid, though I suppose that doesn’t matter much to you.”</p><p>He hadn’t sat up again after the last time he’d been knocked to the ground, only propped himself up on an unsteady elbow. He was rewarded for these efforts with a kick to said elbow and another one square in the chest.</p><p>Roy struggled to catch his breath for a few moments. The blow to his ribs had surely bruised something, and he got the distinct impression they weren’t finished yet.</p><p>He was right.</p><p>The moment he seemed to have resumed breathing normally, the first man kicked Roy in the ribs again, and <em>this </em>time Roy was sure he felt something give way. Then the man dealt another blow to Roy’s stomach, and while Roy gasped from both the pain and sudden lack of air, he knelt down to speak to him.</p><p>“If you think that your death will be <em>quick, </em>‘Hero of Ishval,’” he said, his voice full of barely contained rage, “then you are sorely mistaken.”</p><p>“Emphasis on <em>sorely</em>,” Roy said, still choking on air, and very quickly wished he hadn’t.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Maes stormed into the Fuhrer’s tent without stopping to state his business, offer a salute, or explain anything to the guards outside— who immediately followed him in with protests on their lips. Several guns were pointed at him by the time he’d gotten three feet inside, but he just didn’t <em>care.</em> What mattered right now was Roy, and every second wasted meant Maes’ best friend was just that much more likely to be dead. So he strode directly up to the table that the Fuhrer was sitting at and slammed his hands down on the surface.</p><p>“Is it true?” Maes demanded, and the fury in his voice surprised even him. He paid no attention to anything besides the look on Bradley’s face. “Has Roy been captured?”</p><p>Bradley didn’t answer right away, just held Maes’ gaze for several moments and then turned toward his generals. “Stand down,” he ordered, with a wave of his hand, and they all immediately complied. “The Captain here just received some rather upsetting news. As he is grieving, his insubordinate behavior will be excused.”</p><p><em>Grieving</em>. Like Roy was already dead. Maes didn’t have to tear his eyes away from the Fuhrer to know that the looks of outrage that had been directed at him when he barged in had switched to pity. Their pity wouldn’t save Roy. “Is. It. <em>True</em>,” he repeated through gritted teeth.<br/>Bradley’s expression didn’t change. He just fixed his imposing, one-eyed stare back on Maes. “Yes.”</p><p>Maes’ fists clenched, and he resisted the urge to slam them down on the table again. “Then what are you all <em>sitting around </em>for?” he asked, looking at each of them in turn now.</p><p>The Fuhrer sighed, and this time he <em>almost</em> seemed to pity him, too. Almost, but not quite, for his voice was still remorseless when he answered. “Captain Hughes, sit down, you’re in shock—”</p><p>“<em>I’m </em>not the one you should be worrying about!” Maes practically exploded, and this time he lifted his hands off the table, gesturing wildly in the air “<em>I’m </em>the only one here who’s making any goddamn <em>sense!</em>”</p><p>“Captain Hughes,” Bradley began, an edge to his voice now. “Control yourself. You must understand; the Ishvalan people do not take prisoners.”</p><p>Maes narrowed his eyes. “They took Roy.”</p><p>“Yes, due to his unique status as a state alchemist. The Flame Alchemist, no less, who has dealt devastating blows to their forces,” Bradley said slowly, as if Maes didn’t already know all of this. “They no doubt plan to torture him for information. Or perhaps just for their own enjoyment.”</p><p>“Roy won’t talk,” Maes told him, even though the very thought made him sick. <em>Torture. </em>He knew it was true, though— both what Bradley had said, and his own words. Roy was probably being tortured right now, but… Maes knew his best friend would die before he gave up Amestris military secrets, if only because doing so was as good as death itself.</p><p>And because Roy was horrendously stubborn. Always had been.</p><p>“Precisely,” Bradley said. “Which is why a rescue mission would be pointless.”</p><p><em>Pointless. </em>“But—!”</p><p>“They’ll realize that Major Mustang won’t tell them anything very quickly,” Bradley interrupted. “Perhaps they already have. It’s been some time since he was taken, and I’m not risking more men on the unlikely chance that he’s alive.”</p><p>“But he’s the <em>Flame Alchemist,</em>” Maes insisted, unable to believe his ears. He refused to accept this. “His alchemy is unmatched, and you said yourself he’s been instrumental in landing some of our biggest successes against the Ishvalans. Surely <em>he</em> must be worth the risk.” To Maes, Roy would <em>always</em> be worth the risk. And that was just because he considered Roy his best friend, but Maes <em>knew </em>that the higher-ups thought of their alchemists as weapons of mass destruction. Not <em>human</em>, not quite, but they were at least something worth keeping safe, if only for their capabilities<em>.</em> Maes had thought so, anyway.</p><p>“Captain, be sensible. You’re letting your personal feelings cloud your better judgement. We cannot risk sending out a number of soldiers into enemy territory just to save one man.”</p><p>“One man who can bring dozens of <em>opposing</em> soldiers to their knees with a snap of his fingers.”</p><p>“But one man nonetheless, however powerful he may be,” Bradley reasoned. “He could be anywhere by now, Captain Hughes. Even if we were to send a team to rescue him, we wouldn’t even know where to look.”</p><p>Maes opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again as Bradley continued.</p><p>“The Private I sent to the medical tent was instructed to tell you the Major is presumed dead,” Bradley said, his voice calm and full of sympathy that Maes<em> knew</em> was fake. These men had never cared about Roy. All they cared about was what he could <em>do. </em>“And he is. I promise you, Captain, by the time we’re able to find him, there won’t be anything left to save.”</p><p>Maes forced himself to take a deep breath, seething in silence. If he lost his cool again, they wouldn’t hear him out. He honestly couldn’t be sure they’d hear him out anyways, but… the beginnings of an idea were starting to take shape in his head.</p><p>“Is that the main concern?” Maes asked, and was impressed with how steadily he did so. “That we don’t know where Roy is?”</p><p>Bradley looked confused, yet intrigued all the same. “Yes, among other things,” he said. “The lack of a concrete location is preventing even the option of us assisting him.”</p><p>“What about the mole?”</p><p>Bradley blinked. “Pardon, Captain?”</p><p>“The man who told me what had happened— he said Roy had been set up. That one of the scouts had organized an ambush. He told me we had that man in custody,” Maes said. “May I have your permission to question him on Roy’s whereabouts?”</p><p>There was a glint in Bradley’s eyes that Maes didn’t like. “Permission granted. I doubt it, but if he knows anything, report back here at once. If we know exactly where to find Major Mustang then a rescue mission wouldn’t be such a foolish move.”</p><p>“Yes, sir,” Maes said, saluting, then turned on his heel without another word. He could still save Roy. He <em>had </em>to. Even if the Fuhrer didn’t want to send more soldiers into another potential trap, Maes would go by himself if it came down to that.</p><p>“Captain Hughes?” Bradley asked, causing Maes to stop and look over his shoulder in the doorway. “Don’t kill him. We have a very... <em>special</em> way of executing traitors, and I’m certain you wouldn’t want to spare him of that fate, would you?”</p><p>Maes nodded, slowly, then left the tent, his heart pounding in his chest. He got the very distinct feeling that he didn’t want to know what the Fuhrer had meant.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Roy ached <em>everywhere. </em>Granted, he’d taken worse beatings in his life, but… they’d hit him so many times he’d lost count, and they just kept <em>doing</em> it. Whenever he spoke, moved—<em> breathed, </em>even —more blows would rain down. And they didn’t even ask anything of him. Roy wouldn’t have told them <em>anything</em>, but the fact that even if he had <em>wanted</em> to he couldn’t have stopped them… it made the whole thing just that much worse. And Roy could take their hits, fine, but he also knew they’d get bored eventually, which was the really scary part.</p><p>He wasn’t scared. He <em>wasn’t</em>.</p><p>Roy was just in a lot of pain, so it was perfectly natural for blood to be rushing in his ears and his breaths to be coming short and fast even though they’d started kicking his stomach instead of his chest. Less easy to pierce a lung that way, he supposed.</p><p>Lucky him.</p><p>His head was the worst of it. He felt as if someone had driven a knife inside his skull and twisted it— though he couldn’t be sure that <em>that </em>was entirely off the table —and the pain was so sharp his vision kept fading in and out of focus. Concussed, probably. Hughes would be furious at him.</p><p>If he ever saw Hughes again.. Which was starting to seem increasingly unlikely.</p><p>However, even if Roy’s chances would improve— if only a little —by shutting up, he still just couldn’t help himself.</p><p>“Is that all you’ve got?” he asked with a huff, forcing himself to sit up. “Maybe if you’d be so kind as to untie me, I could show you how to throw a proper punch—”</p><p>One of the Ishvalans, clearly sick of Roy’s remarks, had stormed forward and struck him across the face before he’d even finished speaking, knocking him to the ground again. Roy’s head cracked audibly against the floor, and his vision blacked out.</p><p>It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but when Roy came back to his senses he was still lying there, head in a puddle of something wet. He kept his eyes shut. His head hurt so badly that he hardly dared to risk even the smallest of movements lest he further injure something or get hit again.</p><p>Which was how he happened to overhear the Ishvalans in conversation.</p><p>“He’s knocked out?”</p><p>“Seems so.”</p><p>“Do we wait for him to wake, or just leave him for dead as is?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t be surprised if he never woke up, after a blow like that.”</p><p>Roy almost couldn’t resist shoving himself up once again, with a smirk and a “you’ll have to do better than that,” but something stopped him. Another voice, a voice of reason, perhaps, and a voice that sounded suspiciously like Maes Hughes, told him to stay down.</p><p>Roy Mustang was never one to stay down, but at this rate if he didn’t choose to do so the choice would be made <em>for </em>him. And he’d promised Hughes he’d be back, after all, so... really, how could Roy not listen to him now?</p><p>He stayed down, and he listened.</p><p>“I say we wait,” one of the Ishvalan men said, one with a raspy voice. “We’ve finally got our hands on the Flame Alchemist, we shouldn’t let him die now. He hasn’t suffered nearly enough.”</p><p>“He will,” another promised, and Roy recognized this voice as the first Ishvalan to have spoken to him. “He will know every bit of suffering he has caused our people. But we would do well to ensure his fate now, for every moment of delay makes his end less certain. The Amestrians will be looking for him, and we will be long gone by the time they find his corpse.”</p><p>Roy repressed a shudder.</p><p>“You would have us kill him now, and cut short our revenge?”</p><p>“The <em>revenge</em> isn’t for us,” the first man said. “It’s for those who he has senselessly murdered. We will burn him in this world just as he burned our people, and Ishvala will make sure he burns in the next.”</p><p>A murmur of assent followed this statement, but Roy barely registered it. Because he’d just realized what the Ishvalans meant to do.</p><p>And though he still didn’t dare open his eyes, his other senses were functioning fine. He could smell the gasoline the moment they began dumping it on the floor. On <em>him.</em></p><p>He didn’t move a muscle.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>The man who sold Roy out was older than both of them, though of a lower rank than Major or Captain. Maes didn’t even recognize him. He hadn’t realized it until he walked in, but he’d half expected Kimblee. It was just the sort of thing he’d do for nothing more than the fun of it. Then again, Kimblee wasn’t a scout, and Roy wouldn’t have trusted his intel anyway.</p><p>This was almost, in a way, worse. Maes wondered what Roy had done to make this man hate him so much to condemn him to death. Or a fate worse than death, if Bradley’s suspicions that the Ishvalans would torture Roy before killing him were correct.</p><p>Maes set his jaw. They could be torturing Roy right now. It still turned his stomach to even think about. Despite what Bradley had insinuated, though, Maes wouldn’t torture this man to find out where Roy was, he wouldn’t stoop so low.</p><p>He was almost certain, anyhow. But maybe that was just because Maes refused to believe he couldn’t persuade the traitor to talk.</p><p>Regardless, Maes would start out pleasant, and ignore a hatred more vicious than any he’d felt in a long time. After all, he could at least understand why the Ishvalans wanted Roy dead, but this? Maes had never even worried that this might be a threat, had never even stopped to consider that Roy might be betrayed by one of their own.</p><p>Which was why it so thoroughly terrified him.</p><p>“Forgive my intrusion,” Maes said, with what he hoped was a warm smile. “Lieutenant…?”</p><p>“Collins.”</p><p>“Lieutenant Collins. Captain Hughes, at your service.”</p><p>“I know who you are,” Collins practically spat, his expression full of clear distaste. “You’re his friend. The <em>Flame Alchemist</em>.” Collins said the title like a curse. Maes was beginning to think that maybe it was one.</p><p>He kept his false smile, but he knew for certain by the way that Collins flinched back, just slightly, it no longer reached his eyes. “Then I trust you know exactly why I’m here.”</p><p>“I won’t tell you where he is, you know,” Collins told him. “I won’t help you rescue him. He deserves <em>exactly </em>what he got.”</p><p>“And I don’t suppose you know what <em>that</em> is?” Maes asked, still doing his best to stay calm,</p><p>“’Course I do,” Collins said, and had the nerve to grin. “Wasn’t my idea, but when the Ishvalans said they wanted to burn the bastard alive, I was even <em>more </em>inclined to help them out. Poetic, isn’t it?”</p><p>Maes really, <em>really </em>shouldn’t have asked. He’d known as much even as he’d done so, and yet here he was again, wishing he could take the question back.</p><p>They were going to burn Roy <em>alive. </em>Maybe they already had, and maybe ‘alive’ was no longer a word he could use to describe his best friend.</p><p>Maes couldn’t bring himself to ask if Collins knew any sort of time frame this plan would follow. He couldn’t make himself do or say <em>anything, </em>because his mind would just not stop <em>picturing </em>it.</p><p>Roy, engulfed in the fire he’d so often tamed turned against him. Roy, dying ‘poetically.’ Roy, in so much pain all he could do was scream and burn and scream and <em>burn</em> and—</p><p>Every time Maes heard Roy scream on the battlefield, even if it was just a short, surprised yelp, he could’ve sworn felt his heart stop, just for a moment, until he turned around and made sure Roy hadn’t received a bullet between the eyes. Or anywhere else, for that matter.</p><p>This felt a little like that, only the screams were in Maes’ head. And he had no way of making sure that Roy was okay, so he had no way of getting them to stop. He had no way of knowing that Roy was even still <em>breathing,</em> which made his own breaths unsteady again, and…</p><p>Ironically, Roy would’ve been able to calm him down, in a situation like this. Then again, Maes only cared so much because it <em>was</em> Roy.</p><p>Collins simply eyed him warily. “I won’t help you,” he repeated, though he did sound a bit more sympathetic. “I know he’s important to you, but I won’t help <em>him</em>.”</p><p>Maes forced down the horror he still felt at the idea of Roy being killed in such a way, and spoke again. “What did he ever do to you?”</p><p>Collins actually looked surprised. “This is hardly about what he did to <em>me</em>.”</p><p>Maes scoffed. “Of course not. How much, then, are the Ishvalans paying you?”</p><p>“I’d be a fool to give up the Major for even a large sum,” Collins said, with disdain. “No amount of money would save me from the Amestrian military.”</p><p>Collins did have a point. A bribe wouldn’t have gotten him out of the situation he was in now. “But then what—?”</p><p>“Roy Mustang is a <em>monster</em>,” Collins snapped. “He’s killed countless innocents with his infernal alchemy.”</p><p>That was… not what Maes had expected. “Innocents?” he echoed in disbelief. “We’re fighting a <em>war</em>—”</p><p>“You can call it a war all you want, but the Ishvalan people are getting killed regardless of if they’re putting up a fight or not,” Collins said. “That isn’t what I signed up for when I joined the military. I thought I would be <em>helping </em>people. Maybe it won’t accomplish anything. Maybe it’ll at least give the Ishvalans a fighting chance. But if making sure Roy Mustang dies is the only way I can help them? <em>Fine.</em>”</p><p>Maes was speechless for several moments. “You’ve… never actually spoken to Roy, have you, Lieutenant?”</p><p>Collins blinked. “What? No, I… I’ve seen him around camp, a few times, but the only conversation we’ve ever had was when I gave him the false intel.”</p><p>“I figured as much,” Maes said. “If you actually got to know him, I think the two of you would have gotten along quite well.”</p><p>Collins scowled. “Did you not hear any of what I just said?! He’s a <em>monster,</em> he doesn’t deserve to live, he deserves to rot in—!”</p><p>“He’s a human being,” Maes said carefully. “Just the same as you.”</p><p>“He’s <em>nothing </em>like me. I would never—”</p><p>“If you were a state alchemist,” Maes interrupted, again. “Then you’d have to.”</p><p>Collins just stared at him. Maes sighed.</p><p>“Do you think this is what <em>Roy</em> wanted when he joined the military? Do you think this is what <em>he </em>signed up for? He wanted to help people, too, but he hasn’t been given the chance.”</p><p>“If he really wanted to stop killing people then he’d choose to—”</p><p>“To what? Betray his country and be executed as a traitor like <em>you </em>will be?” Maes asked. It was a low blow, and he knew it, but he had a point to make. Roy had brought up the idea of deserting to Maes many times, but all that would do was get Roy killed. And the rest of the Amestrian military would just keep going without him. Roy might have been able to do a lot of damage with his alchemy, but he was hardly the only soldier in the field. He wasn’t even the only alchemist. “What good will him dying do? The rest of the country will just keep fighting— with or without him —until there are no Ishvalans left. And Roy’s only twenty-three. I think, the way he sees it, he has to be able to do some good later in life that would make up for this, at least in part. If he thought dying would have fixed anything, he would’ve killed himself by now.” And Maes knew it was true, despite the disbelief in Collins’ eyes. Despite how cold the knowledge made him feel.</p><p>Because no matter how Roy tried to convince him otherwise, Maes <em>knew </em>that he had thought about it.</p><p>“But… but he… he’s twenty-three?” Collins stammered, his voice smaller than before.</p><p>Maes nodded. “Honestly? The worst part is that he’d agree with you. If he knew why you’d done it, he’d probably think that it was justified. He wouldn’t hold it against you. Hell, he’d probably forgive you.” Maes wished he could say the same about himself, but he knew, deep down, that if Roy was killed because of this, he’d ensure Collins met the same fate. He was selfish like that.</p><p>“How can you be sure?”</p><p>“Because he’s my best friend,” Maes said sadly. “I’ve known him for years, and when we met before all of this, he was so determined to do good. He still is, I think, no matter how many times the world tries to destroy that part of him. He’s a good person. He deserves to live, to have the opportunity to make amends.”</p><p>Collins opened his mouth, then closed it again without saying anything.</p><p>Maes took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was soft and dangerous. “Where are they keeping him?”</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Roy wanted to leave the building as soon as the Ishvalans did, but they’d most likely spot him and <em>actually </em>knock him out this time before setting the whole place on fire, so he decided against it.</p><p>His thoughts were all muddled, which probably had something to do with the number of times he’d been clocked in the head, but even through the confusion and rising panic Roy knew he needed a plan. Because it seemed his only option was to stay in the building even though it would go up in flames any second now.</p><p>Fortunately— or… unfortunately, he supposed —head injuries also bled a lot, which meant that he had something to work with.</p><p>It was an array he knew <em>almost </em>as well as the back of his hand, but not quite, seeing as it wasn’t the one on his gloves. He still had it memorized, though, backwards and forwards, as it was the first one Mr. Hawkeye had taught him all those years ago. A means of protection. A failsafe, of sorts, for if the fire was ever too much to control. A way to keep the flames from burning too hot or too close.</p><p>And now, a way to buy time.</p><p>He got to work immediately, and though it was difficult to trace the array around him with his hands bound, he couldn’t afford to make any mistakes. He finished it just in time; his alchemy crackled to life with a bright blue light just as the gasoline lit with orange flames.</p><p>And Roy, in the middle of an array drawn from his own blood, remained completely unharmed.</p><p>He wasn’t out of danger yet, he wasn’t enough of a fool to believe that. The smoke inhalation would kill him eventually, and he was surrounded on all sides by flames and blistering heat. But at least now he had time to think of a better plan. Time during which, hopefully, the Ishvalans would take their leave.</p><p>The Ishvalans…</p><p>Was there any chance in hell that they hadn’t thought to check Roy’s pockets?</p><p>They’d taken the gun from his belt, he knew that, though a gun wouldn’t have helped him much here. They’d taken the gloves from his hands, and probably destroyed them. But he’d been awake while they led him here, and he’d only blacked out for a few seconds before, though they’d thought him unconscious.</p><p>And during that entire time, they hadn’t searched his uniform. Why would they? They had planned to kill him, to <em>incinerate</em> him, and they’d tied him up, so what was the threat?</p><p>If he could manage to get his hands <em>untied</em>, though, Roy was pretty certain he’d find an extra pair of gloves in his inside jacket pocket. If he had his gloves, he could escape. <em>Easily</em>.</p><p>And though he normally would’ve brought just the one pair, he’d grabbed another on a whim. Just because Hughes had been so worried.</p><p>Roy figured he’d be better off neglecting to mention that specific detail to Hughes himself, though, or he’d never hear the end of it.</p><p>He’d also be better not tell Hughes about the idea he’d just had to get out of his bindings, because it was one of the ideas his best friend would probably call ‘dangerous’ and ‘stupid.’</p><p>Actually, Hughes called pretty much <em>all</em> of his ideas dangerous and stupid, but that had never stopped Roy before.</p><p>If he stuck his hands into the fire, just a bit, he could burn the rope off.</p><p>Sure, it’d probably hurt like hell to do, but Roy couldn’t very well start breaking fingers; he needed them to snap. And the array was still glowing brightly, still doing its job. Even if his hands had gasoline on them, even if his uniform sleeves caught, when he pulled his arms back into the circle the fire would be put out. It’d still do damage, but… well, it was better than the alternative.</p><p>So, he inched his hands toward the nearest flaming section of floor, where the fire burned nearly eye level with him as he sat, and he angled them as best he could. And he very nearly whispered a prayer.</p><p>He was right about it hurting like hell. But he was also right about it burning the rope.</p><p>Roy muffled a scream through gritted teeth, and dug his injured hands into his jacket, searching for— <em>yes. </em>His gloves. He had them.</p><p>He put them on immediately, and his hands felt... somehow better, even though they’d been burned. But maybe that was just because when Roy wore the gloves, he felt dangerous. Formidable. More in control of the situation. Less likely to burn alive.</p><p>Fire was <em>his </em>weapon, and the Ishvalans were fools to try and use it against him.</p><p>With one snap, he’d cleared the way to the stairs, manipulating the fire to form a path. He did so again, and again, and again as he fell more than ran down the stairs— he couldn’t risk the flames so much as touching him. He’d been doused in gasoline. One misstep and he was as good as dead. He kept snapping as he reached the main floor.</p><p>Moving his hands hurt, and some of the blisters on his skin popped and had started to bleed. He could only hope that the wetness of his blood wasn’t enough to strip his gloves of their power.</p><p>The smoke was so thick and the flames so high, now, that Roy couldn’t find the door. He lifted an arm to cover his mouth and nose— and snapped, again —as his lungs began to burn. He needed an out, and he needed one <em>now.</em></p><p>So<em>, </em>when he spotted the window, it was more instinct than anything that caused him to run over and throw his body against it. He didn’t want to try and smash it with fire, seeing as he was still constantly snapping his burned fingers just to keep the flames away from him. Next thing Roy knew, he’d landed on the ground outside with the sound of shattering glass echoing in his ears.</p><p>The first thing he registered was that he could breathe normally again. The second was a pain so searing that he wondered for a moment if he <em>had</em> been burned somewhere other than his hands. And third, he realized that… <em>oh. </em>Breaking glass with his body was probably not the smartest idea. <em>Definitely </em>dangerous and stupid, even if he hadn’t had a choice.</p><p>His entire left side where he’d shoved through the window was all cut up. The sleeve of his uniform on that side was shredded and the arm beneath didn’t look much better, with a long gash that was already gushing blood. When he glanced down to take further stock of his injuries he found that his left side was so badly sliced openthat he couldn’t bear to look at it. It was all he could do to turn his still aching head up to the sky and press his hands to the enormous shard of glass embedded in the skin in hopes of minimizing some of the blood loss. There was so<em> much.</em></p><p>His gloves were soon soaked through with it, and now useless. He could feel it pooling under him. He could <em>see </em>it where it’d splattered on the wall beside the window. Roy was surrounded by glass shards and dripping <em>red</em>.</p><p>He was lying on pieces of glass, too, that were no doubt cutting up his back. But he was already in so much pain that it hardly mattered. He couldn’t even feel it.</p><p>Roy knew that was probably a bad sign, and so was his steadily waning consciousness. He knew that he should <em>move</em>, that the Ishvalans who’d taken him there could still be close by, that to stay here could mean death either by their hands or the fire still raging inside.</p><p>But Roy also knew that even if he did try to keep pressing on, it wouldn’t much matter. The most he’d be able to do now was crawl, and he wouldn’t give his captors the satisfaction of finding him trying to claw his way back to camp through handfuls of sand. Besides, it would only aggravate his injuries to do so. And with injuries like his… Roy knew he was done for, barring a miracle.</p><p>So, with the immediate danger of being suffocated or cremated behind him, Roy finally let his eyes slip shut. Maybe bleeding out would be a more pleasant way to go.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Maes didn’t have much trouble locating the address Collins had given him, though that was due in large part to the fact that said building was on fire. It was pretty hard to miss.</p><p>The flames all but poured out of the doorway. They raged behind every windowpane. The structure itself, being made of stone, hadn’t caught, but everything inside had clearly long since been burned to ash.</p><p>He debated going in anyway. <em>Roy </em>was still in there. He had to be. After all, the Ishvalans who’d done this where nowhere to be seen, which could only mean that… they’d succeeded.</p><p>They’d killed Roy Mustang.</p><p>Roy was still in there, but Maes would only get himself killed if he tried to save what was left. If there was anything left. And Roy wouldn’t have wanted that, no matter how much Maes longed to go charging into the fire. No matter how much he still hoped against hope that he’d be able to save him.</p><p>Maes had known the odds were against him when he’d left camp. His side still stung when he moved, the higher-ups had only sent a few men with him as back-up— and really, half a dozen soldiers could hardly be called<em> back-up</em> for something like this —who all stayed far away from the burning building, and he’d only gotten that much still with considerable reluctance on the Fuhrer’s part. And Maes had known that most likely, they’d be too late.</p><p>But aside from all that, Maes had known for certain that they couldn’t save Roy even before they’d gotten close. He could smell the smoke and gasoline from a mile away.</p><p>It was even thicker here, right beside the building, though Maes realized belatedly that there was one smell that <em>should’ve</em> been there, but was missing.</p><p>Maes had been on enough missions with Roy to recognize it. It never ceased to make him gag, and he never could manage to wrap his head around how Roy was just… used to it, now. Used to the smell of human bodies when they burned.</p><p>The smell that was… lacking, here.</p><p>Was it even possible? Did he even <em>dare </em>to hope? Collins had told him exactly what the Ishvalans’ plan was, they wouldn’t have just let Roy go. They wouldn’t have taken him, either— they wanted him dead. Had Collins given him false information? No, the building was still on fire. Roy <em>had</em> been inside, then, so… where was he now? Where had he gone?</p><p>One of the other soldiers spotted him first. “Captain Hughes!” she called out, her voice full of surprise and something almost like fear. “Here, on this side—”</p><p>Maes didn’t hear what she said next, because he was already there, and all his other senses dulled as his vision tunneled. All he could do was <em>stare.</em></p><p>Roy Mustang, out of the inferno, only to be practically drowning in a pool of his own blood.</p><p>It was <em>everywhere</em>. On the walls, on the ground, and <em>all </em>over Roy— he had blood matted in his hair and on one side of his face, blood covering the majority of his uniform, and still more gushing from various cuts across his body, evidently caused by the shattered window above him. Both his arms looked slashed up, and his gloves were covered in so much blood that Maes couldn’t tell if it was from his hands themselves or the rest of him. Or both.</p><p>But his side was the worst of it. A large portion of Roy’s uniform had torn away, and beneath it a shard of glass— much bigger than the ones surrounding Roy on the ground —was sticking out. And it was in <em>deep.</em></p><p>Maes felt like he was might throw up. Or just pass out right there. But he couldn’t do either of those things, because Roy needed him.</p><p>Maes watched for another horrified moment, the fear welling up in him like a great wave about to crash, and then he saw Roy’s chest move. A single, shuddering, excruciating breath. He was probably in <em>so </em>much pain.</p><p>But he was also alive, and that was enough. Maes could actually do what he’d set out to. He could save him. He <em>had </em>to. If Roy was suffering, it just meant he was trying to hold on, and Maes would be damned if he didn’t help him.</p><p>All the other soldiers seemed keen to stand there uselessly, but Maes had rushed forward in the next moment, kneeling at Roy’s side. He had never been the sort to turn his back on someone, <em>especially </em>if that someone was Roy, because Roy was… Roy was his best friend. Roy was practically <em>family</em> to him. Roy was not someone he could afford to lose.</p><p>“Come on, buddy, stay with me,” Maes muttered, as he began to lift Roy up, as gently as he could. They’d brought some basic medical supplies with him, but… none of it would be enough. His only hope was to get Roy back to camp, and that was just what he planned to do. “You’ll be okay. Everything will be okay, just hold on. For me, okay Roy?”</p><p>He lifted himself up on to one knee, trying to jostle Roy as little as possible. Maes had him in a bridal carry, and he knew if Roy were awake he would’ve made his distaste very plain— Roy had always hated needing help. During their last year at the academy, Maes had once had to carry Roy back to his apartment after the idiot drank too much, and Roy had shouted his protests the whole way there, though Maes hadn’t really listened because he was laughing so hard.</p><p>Roy was quiet, now. Still. His eyes were shut, and every breath he took seemed to hurt him more.</p><p>Maes stood, slowly, then glanced down at Roy again— still breathing —before he tore his gaze away and fixed it on the others. They all looked as terrified as he felt, but thankfully whatever expression <em>he</em> wore didn’t convey that. He probably looked positively thunderous, if the way they jumped into action was any indication.</p><p><em>Good. </em>He felt ready to strike anyone down who got in the way of saving Roy. Luckily, it didn’t seem they were going to.</p><p>“Get us back to camp,” he ordered one of them, gesturing toward the truck. “<em>Now</em>.”</p><p>“Yes, sir!” The soldier had already hopped behind the wheel. Maes got in back, and he realized he was trembling when he had to set Roy down on the stretcher they’d brought. It was safer for him, and Maes knew that, but… it was a lot worse to see Roy like this when he couldn’t feel him breathing. Maes reached forward and grasped Roy’s wrist in both his hands. Just so he could feel his pulse. Just so he could be sure. So he would know immediately if… if…</p><p>If he needed to say his goodbyes, even if Roy wouldn’t wake up to hear them.</p><p>The soldier who had spotted Roy in the first place patted Maes lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, sir,” she said. “I’m sure we’ll get him back in time.”</p><p>Maes didn’t take his attention off of his best friend. Didn’t even glance at her. He didn’t care if he hurt her feelings or scared her— the only person in the vehicle that mattered to him was bleeding out, and Maes couldn’t bring himself to give half a damn about anything else until he knew Roy would be okay.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Roy hadn’t really expected to wake up at <em>all</em>, so when he did start to gain awareness of his surroundings again, it came as a shock. For a moment all he could feel was something soft beneath him, and he wondered if he had really died. The last thing he remembered lying on was broken glass.</p><p>But he dismissed this theory fairly quickly, because if he <em>were </em>dead, he certainly wouldn’t have ended up anywhere nice. Besides, the second the memories of what had happened came back the pain flooded in with it. His head ached. His hands and arms stung. His side <em>burned</em>.</p><p>But he wasn’t dead, and that was… something. Even if Roy had no idea <em>how.</em></p><p>And then he noticed a slight weight on his wrist. It hardly felt like anything at all, and with the intensity of his pain he hadn’t even registered it at first, but he felt it just before he opened his eyes and the all too familiar sight of the medical tent greeted him.</p><p>He glanced over to see what he’d felt, and… oh.</p><p>Roy wasn’t even surprised to see Hughes there. Who else would it have been? He’d known that if he managed to survive, he’d get the longest scolding of his life. He couldn’t even bring himself to be dreading it, though, not when Hughes looked like <em>that.</em></p><p>He had his head bowed toward the floor, one hand covering his face and the other holding Roy’s wrist, with his fingers on his pulse. He looked exhausted. He was <em>shaking</em>.</p><p>How long had he been sitting there, constantly checking to see if Roy’s heart was still beating?</p><p>Roy was so touched that he had no idea what to say.</p><p>He didn’t end up having to say anything. Hughes broke the silence.</p><p>“I can’t believe I let this happen,” he muttered, and Roy realized that Hughes hadn’t noticed that Roy was awake. He was talking to himself. “Again. This always happens, he’s always getting <em>hurt</em>, and I had a bad feeling, I should’ve... I should’ve been there faster<em>. </em>It’s all my—”</p><p>His voice broke, and he took a deep, shaky breath. He shook his head, and Roy saw with no small amount of alarm that Hughes was <em>crying</em>.</p><p>And, well. That was simply not allowed under any circumstances.</p><p>“<em>Maes</em>,” Roy began, with the full intention of saying more, but he was still at a loss for words and his voice was as wrecked as his body, so he ended up coughing instead.</p><p>It didn’t matter, though. Hughes’ head snapped up immediately, his eyes red and puffy behind his glasses. “Roy?” he asked, and he sounded just as ruined. He was at Roy’s bedside in an instant, though the coughing fit didn’t last too long. “You’re awake, you’re… you— are you okay?!”</p><p>What a ridiculous question. Roy couldn’t bring himself to say so, though, not when Hughes was still just… <em>looking </em>at him like that. With such blatant concern. Instead, he nodded. When Hughes didn’t seem convinced, Roy rolled his eyes. “I’m all <em>right</em>, Hughes. I have no idea how, but really, it’s not that bad.”</p><p>Hughes still looked unsure. “It was, though,” he told him. “It was really, <em>really </em>bad. It still is, I mean, I… we thought you might not—”</p><p>He broke off again, and Roy could hardly blame him. He’d been scared, too, and Hughes had always cared about Roy’s wellbeing far more than he did himself.</p><p>“I know,” Roy said softly. “I thought I was done for, too. Which reminds me, how did I even <em>get </em>here? I was alone when I passed out, and I was sure… I was sure it was the end for me.”</p><p>“Oh.” Maes stepped back from Roy’s side a bit, running one hand through his hair. Which was a mess. Seriously, how long had he been sitting vigil? “I, um. I got you out.”</p><p>He actually sounded self-conscious about it, which made zero sense.</p><p>“You got me out?” Roy repeated, even though <em>that </em>made perfect sense. Few people would rush to his aid no matter what, Roy knew that well enough by now, and he’d figured when he was captured that the higher-ups would’ve considered him a lost cause. But Hughes was one of those few who would always be there for him. Who he knew he could always count on.</p><p>
  <em>Who else would it have been?</em>
</p><p>“Of course I got you out,” Maes said, voice quiet, as if it the alternative weren’t even a possibility.</p><p>Roy knew the feeling. He would’ve done the same in a heartbeat, if their roles were reversed. As it was, he couldn’t even imagine what it must’ve been like for Hughes, finding him on the ground like that, covered in blood…</p><p>He cleared his throat to dismiss the dark thoughts. “What happened?”</p><p>“I convinced the Fuhrer to let me talk to Lieutenant Collins—”</p><p>“They aren’t going to hurt him, are they?” Roy interrupted, then winced at the look on Hughes’ face. “He made a bad call, but he’s a good man.”</p><p>“You almost died,” Hughes said slowly, like Roy didn’t already know this. “Because of him.”</p><p>“Yes, I know, Hughes, I’m not an idiot, but can you really blame him?”</p><p>Hughes stared at him for several seconds, expression dark and unreadable. “Yes,” he said simply. “Yes, I think I can.”</p><p>Roy sighed. “Come on, Hughes, he’s hardly the only person in the military to think I’m a monster, and he’s not even wrong about it,” he reasoned. “He just had the guts to do something about it, which is pretty commendable if you ask me.”</p><p>Hughes was clearly not impressed. “You. Almost. <em>Died,”</em> he said again, an edge to his voice now that hadn’t been there before. Roy wasn’t used to seeing his best friend so… angry. Even though he could tell it wasn’t directed at him.</p><p>“Once again, I’m perfectly aware of that, but the fact remains that I’m <em>not </em>dead now. Which is thanks to you, by the way,” Roy said, with a small smile, and was pleased when Hughes’ eyes softened again. “Which you managed… how? You talked to Collins?”</p><p>Hughes hesitated. “Yes, he… I convinced him to tell me where the Ishvalans planned to k-kill you.” He flinched slightly, on the word kill. Roy decided not to acknowledge it.</p><p>“Well,” Roy said, somewhat taken aback. “There you have it. A good man.”</p><p>Hughes groaned— a familiar, long-suffering sound. “Why are you like this?” he asked. “Why do you always joke about your near death experiences? Firstly, the fact that this is a common occurrence with you is enough of a problem. Secondly, your continuous nonchalance about it is going to give me gray hairs before I’m thirty.”</p><p>“Well, the fact that it’s a common occurrence warrants a certain amount of nonchalance, wouldn’t you say?”</p><p>“<em>Roy</em>.”</p><p>“What?!”</p><p>“This isn’t funny.”</p><p>“I’m not laughing!” Roy insisted. “I nearly died, and I’m in pain, and I’m pretty sure the majority of my blood is now splattered all over the desert instead of, you know, in my body where it belongs—” Hughes flinched again, but Roy pressed on, “—and it seems that Collins’ information is what landed me here instead of in a grave, so I really don’t understand why you’re so—”</p><p>“Collins is the only reason you were there in the first place!” Hughes cut him off. His voice had risen to a near shout. “He sold you out, he didn’t save your life!”</p><p>Roy opened his mouth, then closed it. “I know that,” he said, finally. “You did.”</p><p>Hughes sank back into the chair at Roy’s side heavily, and put his head in his hands.</p><p>“Thanks for that, by the way,” Roy added, for good measure, and Hughes snorted.</p><p>“You’re welcome,” he said, and it sounded caught halfway between a laugh and a sob. “Couldn’t let you win the bet.”</p><p>Roy scoffed. “Well, I can’t win it <em>now. </em>You wouldn’t have gotten your 10,000 Cens. I haven’t had time to revise my will.”</p><p>This time, it was definitely a laugh.“Once again, please <em>don’t </em>put that in your will.”</p><p>Roy grinned; they were back to their usual back and forth, and he knew they would be okay, no matter how big of a scare this had been for both of them. He should have insisted that Hughes leave the medical tent, then— go get some sleep, he looked absolutely awful, not that Roy could talk —but… he didn’t want him to go.</p><p>“Thanks,” he said again, voice serious, and he looked up to meet his friend’s eyes. “I mean it. Thank you for saving me. I owe you one.”</p><p>Hughes shook his head. “No, you don’t,” he said. “You’re my best friend, Roy, you don’t owe me anything. Besides, you had to practically drag me back here last time.”</p><p>“That’s true,” Roy admitted. “You sure give me a lot of grief. For someone who gets so worked up about my bad decisions, you’re not too careful yourself. What were you even planning to do if the Ishvalans that had me were still there? Give them one of your signature lectures?”</p><p>“I… don’t know, honestly. I didn’t really think about it. I just knew I had to help you.”</p><p>“Unbelievable,” Roy shook his head. “Maes Hughes, you’re a complete hypocrite.”</p><p>“You’re not allowed to be mad at me,” Hughes told him. “I saved your life, remember?”</p><p>Roy shook his head again, but he was still grinning.</p><p>Hughes smiled back, but it disappeared just as quickly. “I… I almost didn’t,” he said, quiet again. Something was always wrong when Hughes was quiet. “And I know you know that, but it was… it was really close. <em>Too</em> close. You were bleeding so much, and you wouldn’t wake up, and when we finally got you back here the medics were all looking at you like you were already <em>gone</em>. Like it wasn’t even worth trying to save you.” He choked on a sob, and Roy tried to scoot closer to him, but the movement send a jolt of pain up his side. Hughes noticed and reached for Roy’s wrist again, then seemed to change his mind and took one of Roy’s hands in both of his own. “<em>Please</em> don’t ever scare me like that again.”</p><p>They both knew Roy couldn’t promise that. “I won’t,” he said anyway, voice barely a whisper, because what else could he say?</p><p>Hughes nodded, then nodded again. “Good,” he said, and he didn’t really sound like he believed it, but he at least seemed to have cheered up a bit. As much as was possible, considering the circumstances. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if… anyway. I should probably go tell someone that you’re awake, right?” he asked, sounding reluctant to leave Roy’s side. “Are you in a lot of pain? Do you need anything? I can go get—”</p><p>When Hughes started to pull away, to stand up so he could leave the tent, Roy didn’t let go of his hand. Hughes turned back to stare at him, his bewildered expression turning quickly to a small, knowing smile.</p><p>Roy refused to be embarrassed. “I don’t need anything,” he said, resisting the sudden, inexplicable need to smile back. “Except… maybe don’t leave? Just yet?” He’d been scared, too.</p><p>And Hughes <em>beamed</em>. “Don’t worry. You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”</p><p>“I know that already,” Roy said, doing his best to sound annoyed instead of amused. Or, god forbid, <em>fond</em>, which was the emotion Hughes seemed to be radiating like sunlight. “After all, I have tried. Extensively.”</p><p>Hughes just kept smiling, and Roy felt the corners of his own mouth twitching up despite himself.</p><p>They both knew that wasn’t true.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Maes opened the flap of Roy’s tent and glared down at the absolute nuisance he for some reason called his best friend. He wasn’t surprised to see him, but it was still exasperating that Roy continually felt the need to risk his own health regardless of how many times Maes asked him very politely not to.</p><p>“What are you doing here?”</p><p>Roy glared right back at him, though he didn’t do a very good job. He was sitting against one of the tent walls with one leg stretched out in front of him, the other pulled up to his chest. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” he said. “This is my tent. You don’t actually live here, no matter how much you act otherwise.” He shivered, just enough for Maes to notice, and so he quickly closed the tent back up behind him.</p><p>“You should be in the medical tent,” Maes continued, not to be distracted. “Recovering. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice that you’d left?”</p><p>“I was pretty sure you would notice, actually, seeing as you’ve been there every day the last week. Which is precisely why I didn’t tell you.”</p><p>Maes crossed his arms. Roy sighed.</p><p>“I didn’t <em>leave.</em>”</p><p>Maes pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’ll forgive me if I find that difficult to believe.”</p><p>Roy just rolled his eyes, which only served to annoy Maes <em>more. </em>“I’m serious—”</p><p>“So am I! You’re still healing, you need rest—”</p><p>“According to the higher-ups,” Roy interrupted smoothly, “I <em>need</em> to start preparing for my next mission.”</p><p>Maes froze, irritation dissolving instantly. “What?” he said, and his voice came out so soft it was a wonder Roy could hear it at all.</p><p>Roy winced, and Maes got the distinct feeling that he had hoped he wouldn’t have to tell Maes that. “I… got my next assignment. It’s not for a few days, but they released me from the medical tent and gave me clearance to be back in the field.”</p><p>Maes couldn’t believe his ears. “But… that’s ridiculous. I was required to spend far more time in there than just a week, and I was just grazed by a stray bullet.”</p><p>Roy shrugged. “Well, you’re not an alchemist,” he said, as if that explained everything. “I probably won’t have to physically fight anyone, so there’s less chance that I’d aggravate my injury. Besides, I’m basically fine now.”</p><p>Maes didn’t buy it for a second. “Bullshit,” he snapped. No matter how put together Roy tried to seem, Maes knew the extent of his injuries. He’d seen them. And there was no way in hell Roy should be going back into the field so soon. In all honesty, he should’ve been sent to a hospital. But that wouldn’t happen, and Maes had known that already. Because Roy was an alchemist. “You said you wouldn’t be fighting anyone last time, and look what happened. What’s the mission, anyway?”</p><p>Roy let out a slow breath through his nose, and flinched again when he tried to shift into a more comfortable position on the floor. He was still shivering. Maes sank down onto the ground beside him, took off the black cloak he was wearing, and wrapped it around Roy’s shoulders.</p><p>Roy tried to give it back. Maes didn’t let him.</p><p>Roy offered him a small— but no less grateful —smile. “It’s... a small settlement of Ishvalan rebels they want wiped out. Completely.”</p><p>Ah.</p><p>Missions like those were always hard on Roy, but he was much better at hiding that than he was about hiding it if he was physically hurt. Still, Maes usually saw through both. He was one of the few who did.</p><p>Roy was even less okay than he seemed, and he didn’t seem okay at all.</p><p>“I don’t see why another alchemist couldn’t easily take care of that,” Maes said, and Roy grimaced.</p><p>“Actually, I think they’re sending Kimblee with me on this one,” he said. “Because my last solo mission didn’t go too well, as you might have heard.”</p><p>Maes wrinkled his nose. “All the more reason for <em>you</em> to stay here. God, I hate Kimblee.”</p><p>“So do I,” Roy said. “But the Fuhrer thinks he’s brilliant. And he’s sort of right, I mean— The <em>Crimson Alchemist</em>. He’s incredibly powerful, even if he is an asshole.”</p><p>“He’s not just an asshole, he’s a psychopath,” Maes said, and then continued before he thought better of it. “He’s a monster, Roy.”</p><p>And the smile Roy gave him <em>then</em> was.. sad. “You know that’s what they say about me, right?”</p><p>“Shut up,” Maes said immediately, shaking his head. “That’s not the same, you know it isn’t. You’re doing this because you have to, Kimblee’s just… he’s <em>sadistic</em>. All he wants to do is hurt people, and he’d probably find a way to do it whether there was a war going on or not. You’re completely different, and don’t even try to say otherwise, because I <em>know </em>you, Roy. I know you’re a good person.”</p><p>“That doesn’t matter much here,” Roy said, and he just sounded tired. Numb. “And it doesn’t matter to the higher-ups, either. All that’s important to them is whether we’re valuable assets that they can use.”</p><p>“You’re not an <em>asset</em>,” Maes said, his jaw clenched. “You’re a person.”</p><p>“I don’t think Bradley cares one way or the other,” Roy told him, staring at the ground even as Maes tried to catch his eye. “Why do you think I’m being sent back out there so soon? I’m no more than another weapon at their disposal, another alchemist with a power they can exploit. What good would I be sitting at camp when I could be burning the opposing forces to the ground? My power weighs the odds so far in our favor that they’d rather risk my death and send me to as many battles as possible than make sure I’ve had time to properly heal. My alchemy is of far greater importance to them to them than my life is.”</p><p>And that was the heart of the issue, wasn’t it? Roy really was just a <em>weapon </em>to them. His power made him an asset in the eyes of the military, and a monster in the eyes of the Ishvalans and people like Collins who saw this ‘war’ for what it was. But to Maes… Roy was just his best friend.</p><p>Which would never be enough to protect him from everyone else who wanted to either use him or do him harm. Or both<em>.</em></p><p>“I hate this,” Maes said softly, furiously, and even though he hadn’t even really meant to say it, <em>that </em>finally got Roy to look at him.</p><p>“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say you hated anything before,” Roy said, with a fond sort of confusion. “You’re insufferably optimistic.”</p><p>“Well, someone has to balance out your persistent negativity,” Maes said, but his heart wasn’t in it. And Roy could always tell. “But… I’m serious. I hate this. I hate that you’re in so much more danger just because you’re an alchemist. I hate seeing you get hurt, and I <em>hate </em>that it happens so often, and I hate that it’ll probably happen again before you’ve even been able to heal from <em>this. </em>I hate that the Fuhrer—”</p><p>“Careful there, Hughes, you’re edging on treasonous territory.”</p><p>“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Maes shot back and stuck his tongue out at Roy, which earned him a surprised laugh. “I just. I hate this. I hate <em>everything</em> about this.”</p><p>Roy’s smile faded, and he looked back at the ground when he said, “I hate it, too.”</p><p>They sat there like that for a few moments, in the sort of comfortable silence that only best friends could share. Roy had drawn a bit closer, and Maes had to hold himself back from pulling Roy into a hug. As it was, he still threw an arm around Roy’s shoulders and waited to be shaken off.</p><p>He wasn’t.</p><p>“We’ve just got to keeping pressing on, haven’t we?” Maes asked, finally. “Keep moving forward. It’s all we can do. We’ll make it out of here, and then… we’ll tackle whatever comes next.”</p><p>Roy nodded, but his expression didn’t change.</p><p>“Well,” Maes continued, brightening, “I hope you know that I’m coming with you on this one. I don’t care what the higher-ups have to say; if you’re healed enough to get sent into the field, then I am, too. Besides, someone’s got to make sure you don’t die, and I know it won’t be Kimblee.”</p><p>Roy laughed again, but it was softer, this time. It always felt like a victory to Maes, making Roy laugh, even if Roy still wasn’t looking at him. “I’m sure they’ll let you go without much fuss, after the hell you raised this time,” he said. “Besides, we do work well together.”</p><p>“That we do,” Maes agreed, with a grin. “Glad that’s settled, then. I’ll be there.”</p><p>“You always are.” The words were so quiet, and yet unmistakable. And before Maes even had time to process<em> that</em>, he felt a soft weight land on his shoulder. “Thanks, Maes,” Roy added, more of a mumble than anything, and then he was silent.</p><p>Maes risked slightly turning his head to the side to see that Roy Mustang, the all powerful Flame Alchemist, had fallen asleep. He’d wrapped himself up in Maes’ cloak like a blanket and was now leaning entirely on Maes’ side, eyes closed and head on his shoulder.</p><p>Roy had clearly been exhausted before, he’d looked like he would fall apart at any moment. Circles under his eyes, his burned hands constantly disguised by his gloves. Even now, he had one of his hands pressed to where Maes knew a lump of bandages still covered his side beneath the cloak and the uniform.</p><p>But somehow, impossibly, he also looked peaceful. As if he knew that he’d be safe like this. He could sleep, and trust that Maes would be there when he woke up.</p><p>And Maes would, of course. He always was.</p><p>His eyes stung as he looked away from Roy— who was starting to drool which, really, was far too adorable for anyone who could set fires by <em>snapping their fingers</em> —and stared at the ground, determined not to cry. He didn’t want to wake Roy up.,</p><p><em>I’ll protect him,</em> Maes promised himself. <em>At all costs. </em><em>I’ll keep him safe.</em></p><p>He risked another glance at his best friend, and smiled. “I’ve always got you, you know that, right?” he whispered, even if Roy wasn’t awake to hear it. “After all, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I don’t think I could stand to lose you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Please let me know your thoughts below! The kind comments on the main series always make me smile, and I don't know if everyone who follows that regularly checks the extras, but hey, if you need a reason to do so, here you are. This is as long as a usual update??? Longer than a few of them even, which is wild, because I crafted two scenes around two amazing works of art by Lilituism and then I wrote the rest of the scenes around that. I really hope you guys enjoyed it. </p><p>Not only was I incredibly inspired by Lilituism's work (THANK YOU S O MUCH AGAIN, I seriously cannot say that enough), I also think I wrote so much because I just... missed Maes and Roy interacting. I started the whole AU as an ode to their friendship, and that always will be the main focus, but it's grown to be something so much bigger than that, too. And I think I missed the simpler times when I could just write about them being idiots who care about each other a Lot. So, yeah. Thank you for reading! As always, I'm incredibly excited about the larger AU, and I'm excited about being able to still write extra stuff like this on the side, as well. I hope you're excited, too! And sorry about all the rambling in the notes, it's what I do when I'm really psyched about writing. Which is what I am.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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